


board games

by GhastlyGhost



Series: King of Embers [6]
Category: Elder Scrolls
Genre: Gen, fan speculation, non specific game of chess
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-14
Updated: 2017-12-14
Packaged: 2019-02-14 22:01:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,007
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13017030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GhastlyGhost/pseuds/GhastlyGhost
Summary: Mehrunes Dagon and Malacath have a conversation with each other over a game of chess.





	board games

**Author's Note:**

> The speculation of Mehrunes' old nature is based on the seven fights of the Aldudagga, wherein he was said to have been the Leaper Demon Kin in previous cycles.

Speaking is like a game of chess. Every word, every gesture, every look, must be thought through. Whatever do or say can compromise you. This is not the case just with enemies or conferences, but with every conversation. Those who slip up and show the wrong hand to someone they thought could be trusted, will be crushed. Who you associate with, who you invest in, decides whether you'll stand among the strongest or whether you'll fall, to rot with the rest of the world's refuse. You need to know who to break, and who to build up, and when. Mephala taught us a lot about the intricacies of court among the daedra, although mastering those is rather difficult for the… Aedric-blooded among us. Connections happen naturally, and they must learn how to sever them, before it becomes an inconvenience. 

One piece is moved.  
“Malacath, you know why you are weak, don't you?” Mehrunes asks.

A counter is set.  
“I know not of what you speak.” Malacath claims. “No god is weak.”

 

“Hm.” Another piece is moved. “Your connections make you vulnerable. It's a liability.”

“My people are my strength,” Malacath claims while he takes his turn.

Mehrunes slowly moved his next pawn. “Until they're used against you.”

“They won’t be.”

Time for Mehrunes to take out a piece. “How is your son?”

Malacath pauses, a spark of anger in his eyes, as he glares at Mehrunes.

“You've not the right to speak of him.”

“See? There it is,” Mehrunes says. “You tried, in vain, to hold onto Trinimac, to your connection to Mundus. You still have such Aedric ways, but this is not the court of Aedra.” While Mehrunes speaks, Malacath looks down at the boards to think of what move to next make. “You're a daedric prince, now. All this love you still hold, what has it gained you?”

“It gained me a following,” Malacath replies while moving his next piece. “You spent eons distancing yourself from who you were, forging yourself into a weapon.” He continues while Mehrunes takes his turn with narrowed eyes. “Do your people even recognize you? Do they remember you?” He asks, as he takes one of his pawns. He speaks more before finishing his turn. “You say my connections to my past weaken me, yet you are the one trying to return to yours. You've built such thick walls around your conscience, tried so hard to reject your previous nature.” Finally, he takes out one of Mehrunes’ pawns. “You ask what my sentimentality has gained me, but what has your emotional isolation earned you? Your name is still gone. Your people are still gone.”

It is evident that Mehrunes did not care for that little speech one bit, as he narrows his eyes and his markings begin to glow and swirl. The movement and brightness die down when he takes a breath and centers himself. There is no need to become physically hostile or give in to these taunts just yet.

“Through great effort, my name will return,” he answers, making his next move. “I've not resigned myself to my fate, and my people, though changed, are with me.”

“Your people.” A smile tugs at the corner of Malacath’s mouth as he immediately takes his turn. “For someone who claims I am weak for holding onto my past, your motivation seems firmly tethered to yours.” 

“It is my goal, yes, but I don't let what comes with it drive me off course.” Another piece is put in place. “You should think before you feel."

“Says the one who seemingly feels it all or nothing.” Malacath quickly dispatches of yet another of Mehrunes’ pieces. “Before I forget, how is your mistress doing?”

“Former mistress,” Mehrunes corrects with a deep frown on his lips and his nostrils flared. “The Isles still have her.” While his markings begin to swirl again, Mehrunes stays relatively calm and takes his turn. “I'd say that's something we have in common, but she is not of my blood. She failed her duty, and is of no importance now.”

Malacath grants Mehrunes a look from under furrowed brows. “How you can dismiss someone so easily…”

“If I allow myself to wallow, I will be affected centuries to come,” Mehrunes explains. “All the losses will join into a weight not even one such as myself couldn't carry.” With one shoulder raising in a noncommittal shrug, he added, “Like magma off my back, it should go once it's passed.”

Finally, Malacath takes his turn. “How many have you loved and lost, now?”

“I didn't count,” Mehrunes says on his.

Malacath pauses to look at Mehrunes again, before moving his next piece. “I don't think this is a trait you will ever lose, Mehrunes.” 

Seeing Malacath left himself open, Mehrunes’ lips briefly twitch into a smile. “Anything can be changed, Trinimac.” 

That name… As expected, Malacath freezes, gaze locked on Mehrunes then quickly turning back to the board they are playing on.

“You remain king, after all these eons,” Malacath says, “there are things that remain constant. What are you?”

What I am? A daedric prince. An Aedroth. An earth bone. What I am is a matter of perception. What I am is ever changing. Being is not a static state, it's fluid, it's subjective. But, I can tell you what I think I am, in this moment. I am what makes people like yours stronger. My people and I are the storm yours struggle to fight through. We are the mountains yours try to climb. We are the forces that threaten their lives and challenge their established being. Without my adversity, they would not improve. Their knowledge would stagnate, and they would die. When I kill, I root out the weak, so the strong may continue. I am not just revolution, I am evolution. I am Ehlnofey, and my name is in the blood spilled for sake of progress. But what has remained constant? Hm… 

Glowing vermilion eyes flicker as Mehrunes meets Malacath’s gaze. “What do you think I am?”


End file.
